(Allow me to apologize in advance for the length of this.)

First of all, Pretty Blond forgot her lei so I left mine in the car. I didn’t really need it anyway because I forgot that, as one guy in a grocery store once told me, I am a “dick magnet.” Especially foreigner’s of non-European decent. And anyone who is not white. But I’ll get to that.

I think that girls going out together tend to be a drama fest of some sort.

I’m never drinking again. (I say that every time I drink.)

It’s Pretty Blond’s 31 birthday and there were 5 of us.

Half hour after we get there one of them decides she has to leave for a bootycall from some guy she’s banging. This causes general argument for 15 minutes about whether she should go or not. She was the only one that thought she should go. She ended up leaving.

Another girl didn’t want to go into the club because her ex was in there. Now for me, that is double bonus points if I’m out and looking hot, drinking and dancing with guys. Duh. But she didn’t want to go in. She did go in. Barely.

Next girl is outside crying on the phone with her ex. She told me who she was talking to and didn’t want anyone else in the group to know because he’s generally despised. Her ex shows up and makes her cry more.

Then there was me. I was smoking hot, if I do say so myself. And that is something you will rarely hear me say. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever said that. Very low cut, clingy shirt that totally accentuated my wonderful (falsely advertised) boobs. It was a false advertisement because I was wearing my triple extra padded Victoria Secrets booby maker bra. Dreads once said, while touching my boobs through it, “is there any real boob in here?” Then I had on a pair of white, see throughish leggings. They really draw the eye right to my ass. And heels that made me about 5’11, while the other girls are about 5′. So I towered over everyone and felt like the Jolly Green Giant.

The first club (Plastic) sucked. Not very many people and we weren’t dancing. So I was drinking. A lot. We were there an hour and I had three shots and three drinks. I weigh about 120 pounds so I was feeling really wasted. And ready to dance. But there was no dancing! So all I had to amuse myself with was an unattractive guy from India (with the bad Indian accent) who was trying to talk to me.

We went outside to smoke and I tried to convince them to go to Jillians. I’m not overly fond of Jillians for a variety of reasons, but it’s usually packed and tons of dancing. While we were outside Pretty Blond told me that a group of four black guys behind me had turned their chairs around and were checking me out hardcore. She said, “They are talking about you, staring right at you and making hand gestures about your shape.” I ignored them and concentrated on making my butt look bigger. (Yes, I love to stereotype. And I’m pretty sure that is what they were looking at.)

So we finally made our way to Jillians and as soon as we got to the dance-floor level a black guy pulls me aside and starts talking to me. Hot. From Jamaica and I can’t even think of a hotter accent right now than Jamaican. I have never fucked a Jamaican guy but I would love for him to talk to me in bed. So his accent added to his hotness. We danced a couple of songs and then I realized that I was completely hammered and didn’t know where my friends where so I went looking for them.

I ran into Hot Jamaican a few more times, danced, blah, blah, blah. Most of the night is a blur. Until we were getting ready to leave.

I walked outside and started walking towards my car because I needed my big purse as it has my apartment keys in it. Pretty Blond’s friend, Football Player, was going to give us a ride home. Hot Jamaican appears at my side and asks for a cigarette. I had a cigarettes but no lighter so he ran over to his car to get one. He was parked about a half block from me.

So he’s talking to me, asking how I’m getting home and telling me I shouldn’t be driving. He was trying to convince me to get into his car. I said I had a ride. Etc.

That is when I realized my car keys were missing. And I freaked out. I had attached them by the keyring to a metal loop on my purse. There is no way they could have accidentally fallen off. I did it like that on purpose so they couldn’t fall out of my purse.

So I ran back to my friends and told them they were missing and explained that they couldn’t have come off accidentally. We went back into the club, asked if anyone had found my keys even though I knew we wouldn’t find them. Nope. And then the bartender asks if I have one of those things that locks and unlocks my doors on my key chain. I said “yeah, why?”

“You better hope they aren’t walking around Albany right now looking for your car.” The thought hadn’t even occurred to me until he said it. My anxiety went right through the roof.

So we went back outside and I was freaking out. Pretty Blond was trying to calm me down.

I decided to walk back to my car and stare at it. Then I leaned up against it (totally ruining my pants because my car is filthy) and thought about kicking the window in. That would have been brilliant. And pointless. And not even possible. But probably funny to watch.

So, on my way back to my friends, I decided that I was sick of walking and jumped into the first cab I saw. And Hot Jamaican appears at the window and tells me not to pay for a cab ride, he can give me a ride for free.

I might be drunk but I’m not insane. I can barely get into a car with people I know due to my anxiety, let alone people I don’t know. Especially when I’m drunk. Taking a cab freaks me out badly enough. So now I’m freaking out about the car, the possibility of it being stolen, the cab driver and Hot Jamaican won’t leave me alone.

I start crying and the cab driver immediately pulls away. He delivers me home safely.

I still have no house keys so I walk around to the back of the apartment and stop to pee in my neighbors lawn along the way. I’m sure they would appreciate that if they knew. (Is it just me and my friends, or do all girls pee outside when they’re drunk?)

I’m on the first floor and have broken into my apartment and the apartment of Young Black Hottie across the hall. (He locked himself out and asked if I could help.) Wearing my four or five inch heels, standing on the back porch about 8 feet off the ground, one foot on the porch, one foot on the window sill, drunk as hell, trying not to fall and crack my head on the concrete below, sliced open my screen, pulled the little things holding it in place, threw the screen on the ground and pulled my drunk ass through the window, head first, and landed on my recliner.

The foot holder on the recliner was already extended and, due to my climbing in, the back of the chair was down. So I slept upside-down, right where I was, with my face on the foot rest and my feet where my head should be.

I woke up this morning and freaked out about what the bartender said. I walked the mile and half back to where my car was parked. Still there.Walked another mile and half back home.

I’ve done nothing today except for check on my car one other time as well. Looking at it quells my anxiety that it’s not going to be there. I’m afraid it will end up stolen or towed. The second it’s out of my sight I start to worry again. I would love to go check on it now, but I am not walking at night, alone. I wish I had the balls to call someone and see if I could borrow their car. I would love to go sleep in their car while it’s parked next to my car.

I called a locksmith. $225 if I had them to it today. Around $100 if I wait until tomorrow. So I opted to call in sick and wait until tomorrow. I wish I had done it today just to make this end. So I don’t have to worry anymore.

I think I can go to a chevy dealer with the VIN number and they can make a key. It might be cheaper. I think I’m going to get up at 6am, walk to my car and check on it, and then take a cab to the dealer. I have to get this done before the meters go into effect at 8am.

Wish me luck.